Three Sabbaths
by tinlizzie82
Summary: Ziva returns to Israel three times after three deaths. Conversations with her extended family reveal her state of mind. Character study. Spoilers through S6.
1. Chapter 1

**Yerida**

**Three Sabbaths: Part 1**

Ziva stood on the tarmac watching the plane as it taxied down the runway and lifted into the sky. _So, _she thought, _everyone betrays me._

"Ziva," her father called from the car, "Come, we are leaving."

She paused to wipe a trace of moisture from her eye. It seemed she would be making her aliyah whether she wanted to or not. Perhaps it was a good thing. Israel ... Israel was all she had left. She walked to the car and got in without looking at her father.

Ziva kept her face directed towards the window as the car sped back towards Tel Aviv. It was just after the rainy season and the sere tans of the landscape were widely broken with patches of startling green. The old city of Jaffa was to the left, a warren of narrow streets and ancient buildings, modern Tel Aviv ahead of them, glittering with glass and steel. This was her country, a study in contrasts. This was her life, brown or green, old or new, for Israel or against. The middle ground she had tried to find was no more than ruins in the desert, swallowed by the sands.

"Levi and Michal have invited you for Shabbat tomorrow. You will come, yes?"

It was a question that was not a question but an order. Her father was anxious to bring her back into the fold, remind her of family and familiar custom. She did not answer but continued to stare out the window while thoughts of another homecoming Shabbat, nearly four years ago, found their way, unbidden and unwanted, into her mind.

*********

"They do not know that it was you who shot Ari. I thought it would be easier that way," her father explained.

"Even Levi?" she asked.

"Levi knows, he is Mossad. He will keep the secret."

_And what about the secrets you keep from me, father. _It was easier not to think of those.

Her aunt Sarai greeted them at the door and immediately enveloped Ziva in a hug.

"Bubelah, you are so thin. Did they not feed you in America?" she said as she held Ziva at arms length and studied her.

"Eema,when have you ever seen a fat Mossad agent!" exclaimed her cousin Levi as he walked up to greet them.

"Yes, Sarai," replied her father. "Ziva is like a knife, well honed."

"For shame Eli, she is also your daughter."

Ziva said nothing. She knew that for her father she was a weapon for Israel first, and his daughter only second. Ari too, had been a weapon but with a mind of his own. That had been the problem. Weapons should only do, not think, and try as she might she could not stop her mind from turning over what Ari had said. _"I only wish I could see his face when he realizes he has created not a mole but a monster." _ She had killed him, killed her own brother, so what did that make her?

"Enough already," admonished Levi's wife Michal as she dragged Ziva away from her father and aunt. "She has not even seen the baby. And I told you Levi, no shop talk."

She led Ziva to the family room where her Uncle Shimon cradled Michal and Levi's fifteen month old daughter in his right arm. After her weeks away, the empty left sleeve of his shirt reminded her forcefully of the arm he had lost in a Hammas bombing many years ago. The same bombing that had killed her sister Tali. She blinked back the tears that threatened to well up in her eyes. He, however, appeared not to notice as he rocked his granddaughter confidently one handed.

"Can you believe how big she has gotten?" he asked Ziva by way of a greeting.

"Crawling already and into everything," added Michal.

Ziva reached out tentatively towards the baby, and caressed her cheek. She was rewarded with a gummy smile and could not help but smile back.

"Shoshana grows more beautiful every time I see her," said Ziva.

"Just like the lily she is named for," said Shimon with a proprietary look at the infant.

The three of them looked up as Sarai clapped her hands in the doorway and announced, "Come, it is time to light the candles."

Over the meal they talked of many things, recent news, Sarai's work as a teacher in the local nursery school, Michal's brother who was currently serving in the military near Gaza. Finally the talk turned to family and Michal broached the subject they had all been avoiding.

"I am sorry about Ari. I know you were close to him, considered him your brother."

"He _was_ my brother," she said, anger tinging her voice.

"Half brother," corrected Shimon, "With that Palestinian woman for his mother."

Ziva bit her lip to keep from replying, there were things they did not know and she could not tell them. Even if she could, she would not ruin their Shabbat by bringing them up.

"What's this I hear about you going back to America," said Sarai in an attempt to ease the tension. "Eli, at a time like this you need to keep her here, keep her with family."

"It is alright," said Ziva, "I want to go."

"She has a job to do," replied her father dispassionately. "Ari's death has created an opening for her, by using it can we bring something good out of his life."

_And did you plan this all along, father?_ Thought Ziva as she shot him a look of loathing. Realizing that the situation was about to disintegrate, Levi caught Ziva's eye and nodded towards the hall.

"Ziva, come with me a moment. I have something to show you," he said.

Ziva ignored him at first, too busy stoking the flames of her anger against her father to pay him much heed. He laid his hand on her shoulder as a sort of restraint.

"Come," he repeated.

And with a shake of her head she did. He led her to the hallway and opened the closet door. She gave him a questioning look.

"What do you see?" he asked.

"A closet, Levi. What do you expect me to see," she demanded impatiently.

"But what is in it?"

"What? Coats, shoes, umbrellas ... Oh!" she stopped her recital as she realized what he was showing her. "The gas masks." Everyone had them, they were so common she had not noticed them at first.

"Yes, the masks. If you opened a closet in America would you ever see those, just hanging there among the raincoats?"

Ziva turned back to him and shook her head.

"They are why your father does what he does, why we all do what we do. I do not want my daughter to ever wear one of those. So we who can fight do so, in the hopes that those who can't will never need to ... and we use whatever methods are necessary."

"But sometimes I feel I am losing my honor, losing myself. There must be other ways. I met this man, this agent Gibbs, and he is different ..." she trailed off as Levi took her by the shoulders.

"Yes, he is different. He does not have a gas mask hanging in his front closet."

Ziva looked at him for a long moment, then took a deep breath and nodded.


	2. Chapter 2

**Three Sabbaths/Chapter 2**

After being left behind by Gibbs, Ziva was in no mood for company in the few days she had before she left to complete Michael's mission. She had no choice but to stay at her father's house but that didn't mean she had to keep him company. She hid in her room when she wasn't at the gym or out running. Exhausting herself physically was the only thing that shut off the toxic mix of anger and regret that made her feel as though her head had been replaced by a hive of hornets. Anyone who spoke to her those few days was liable to get stung.

Despite her wish for solitude, she knew better than to decline the invitation to Shabbat. Her father might pretend to be forbearing but she truly wouldn't want to face her Aunt Sarai if she didn't show up. The tiny woman was the terror of the family. It was not just her aunt, in a strange way she almost wanted to go. Not to see those who would be there but to remember one who was now forever absent. It was at another Shabbat, less than a year ago, that she had met Michael within days of returning to Israel after Director Shepard's death.

As she changed from her usual tee shirt and cargo pants into something more appropriate for Shabbat, she was helpless to prevent her mind from traveling down the painful road to that previous dinner.

**************

_Barukh atah Adonai, Eloheinu, melekh ha'olam ..._

While Sarai recited the blessing over the candles that signified the beginning of the Jewish Sabbath, Ziva stole glances at the attractive but unfamiliar man who stood next to Levi. He looked back at her and gave her a slow smile. Although he was wearing a yarmulke in deference to the traditions of the household, his lack of attention to the ceremony seemed to indicate that, like her, he was not particularly devout.

Once the blessing was finished, Ziva made her way over to the man. "Ziva David," she introduced herself.

"I know."

"Normally people respond with their name," she said, annoyed to be at a disadvantage.

He laughed. "Michael Rivkin, I'm a friend of Levi's and I'm pleased to meet you."

"So you do not claim to know me."

"I just know of you, I've seen you at headquarters."

"Mossad?" she asked, raising her eyebrows, "Then why haven't I seen you?"

"You've been in the States, undercover. And I've been in North Africa, also undercover."

" Oh, I haven't been undercover..." she paused as now he raised his eyebrows, "Well, at least not with a cover story..." He gave her another look. "I mean, I was using my own name," she finished lamely.

"What exactly were you doing? If it's not classified that is?"

"My father feels the Americans are too scrupulous in their pursuit of terrorists, too bound by their rules and regulation to be effective. He sent me there in the hope I could pass along intel in situations where Mossad's methods might prove more, shall we say, final."

"And was your mission successful?"

"There was not that much to report. NCIS does a great deal of domestic work."

"Three years away and there wasn't much to report?" Michael said with a hint of disbelief. "I'm surprised your father didn't recall you."

"I wanted to stay." She did not mention that the longer she stayed, the more it seemed like a betrayal to pass on the intel she did come across. "There was some information to be gathered and, well ... I had much to learn from their methods," she smiled at the memories. "I learned about looking for the truth and having compassion ... and honor." There was no way she could really explain her experiences, they were not the sort of things valued by Mossad where the motto seemed to be that the ends justified the means.

"I suspect that the gathering information part was more important to your father," said Michael. Ziva nodded. "But the learning was important to you. Yes?"

"Yes, and I am not always sure who is right." She shrugged. "It doesn't matter. They sent me back. I failed in an assignment, the director was killed, and they sent me home." Ziva tried to keep some of the hurt and regret she felt out of her voice.

"And is that so great a punishment? Aren't you happy to be home?" he asked with a note of challenge in his voice.

Ziva looked directly into his eyes and saw that he was not judging her. She decided to give him the truth. "I don't know," she said, "I just don't know."

He regarded her for a moment, then said, "Learning is always good, but there comes a time to put your lessons into action. I am sure your father will find good use for you now that you are home." He smiled to take the sting out of what was essentially a rebuke but Ziva knew he was right.

Now that she was home it would be best if she stopped thinking about Gibbs and the team. She would never forget Gibbs and his rules but dwelling in the past could be detrimental to your health in the dangerous world of the Middle East. As her father always said, when dealing with terrorists you cannot think too long about "right and wrong" or the question will change to "live or die" and you might not like the answer.

Michael seemed to understand her dilemma and over the next few months, she spent most of her free time with him. He took her around Tel Aviv and Jaffa as if she was a tourist. Strangely enough, she was not insulted by this. It was just what she needed now that she was home for good. His impromptu tours of places she once had taken for granted helped her feel like an Israeli again and Michael became the umbilicus that connected her to her country once more.

Then one day her father called her into his office. It seemed that he and Director Vance had been pursuing a mole at NCIS and now a marine, Sergeant Roberts, was in Morocco offering to sell the mole's identity to the highest bidder. Her job would be to go to Morocco and get close to the marine in order to pick up both him and anyone displaying interest in his information. She felt her father's eyes on her as he tried to gauge her reaction to working on a case with NCIS.

She had only one response. "I want Michael as my partner."

"OK"

She had expected an argument and was ready to point out that he had experience in the region, that they already knew each other, anything that would make her father agree. It was only later, much later, that she wondered if this had been her father's plan all along. Sending them on a mission together would keep them in close contact. Relying on each other would solidify the bond they were developing. Most importantly, the closer she got to Michael, the more she remembered her commitment to Israel. All these things would ease her father's worries over her loyalty. And possibly marrying an Israeli man loyal to Mossad and her father meant her staying.

The mission, unfortunately, was a complete disaster. Ziva insisted on using her new investigative skills and refused to round up the suspects until she was sure of their involvement. Her tactics quite literally blew up in her face. If she had not spotted the bomb and ducked she would probably have died just like Roberts. Was it just bad luck or was her father right. Were the American's methods inappropriate in the game of swords that the Mossad was forced to play? She decided that the question was not hers to answer. Philosophy was an indulgence she could not afford.

Fate, however, seemed determined to force her to answer. Only days after she got out of the hospital, her father informed her she would be returning to NCIS.

"It seems they want you back," he said as he tried to read her feelings on her face.

While it was true that initially she felt a flare of joy at the thought of being reunited with the team, she then remembered the torment of serving two masters. How could she explain to her father the treacherous path she had to walk in order to fulfill her mission for Israel without betraying Gibbs and the team any more than necessary. He wouldn't even understand why she cared.

And then there was Michael. That at least her father would understand.

"But father, I've just settled in at home and I don't want to leave Michael."

Her father's smile told her that this was what he wanted to hear. Nevertheless, he was adamant that she return.

"I too would love to keep you here. However, they still have not found the mole,mole; I need you there to see that they wrap this up cleanly. The security of Israel depends on it. You can always come here on your vacations, and perhaps I can even find a reason to send Michael over there. Maybe this time you will find, as they say, that absence makes the heart grow fonder."

Ziva was not sure if he was referring to Michael, Israel or himself. Or maybe all three had become inextricably bound together.

As she adjusted to the idea of leaving, she realized that she wanted to go after all. She missed her friends: McGee, Abby, even Tony but most of all Gibbs. She and Michael would have to work it out. Israel was her home but D.C. was her haven and she was ready to go back.


	3. Chapter 3

**Three Sabbaths: Chapter 3**

Ziva stood in the street outside her cousin's home and tried to steel herself to enter. It was a row house, constructed of tan colored stucco with a small front yard. The rainy season had just ended and there was greenery sprouting from every patch of soil but Ziva did not notice. She felt as though every drop of feeling had been wrung from her, leaving her soul so parched and dry that the only thing that could grow was the weed of her anger. For days now she had been tending it. Encouraging the thorns, waiting for the poisonous blooms, wanting to sow the seeds anywhere she could. But this was not the place and tonight was not the time. She sighed and schooled her expression into a mask of neutrality as she walked up to the door.

When Michal opened the door, Ziva was glad to see her father was nowhere in sight. She stood woodenly as first Michal and then her Aunt Sarai embraced her, her aunt patting her cheek like a child.

"Oh bubbeleh, you have been through so much, but you're with family now. No need for the ferkrimpter ponim ... you need to smile." Ziva's attempt at a smile must have looked like a grimace because Sarai just shook her head in dismay. "We will not let your father send you away again. It is not good for you."

"Not his choice. Not yours either," muttered Ziva under her breath. Sarai appeared not to hear but Michal gave her a quick, nervous look as if she expected an explosion at any moment.

"Come see the children. Shoshanna has been asking after you and Uri is so big now, walking and everything."

Michal led the way into the living room where both children were playing at the feet of their grandfather Shimon. At the sight of his mother little Uri ran over to the women but when he saw the stranger in their midst he gave a frightened yelp and hid his face in his mother's skirt.

"Uri, don't be shy. Say hello to Ziva."

"No ... scarewd," said Uri as he burst into tears.

_Out of the mouths of babes_, thought Ziva before she was distracted by Shoshanna's

wild greeting.

"Ziva, Ziva, Ziva!" the five and a half year old yelled as she catapulted herself across the room.

Ziva found the first true smile she had felt in days start to spread across her face but it fell quickly at the child's next words.

"Look, Cousin Ziva, I have been practicing," she cried as she gave her best approximation of a karate kick. "I want to be just like you." The move was comical when done by Shoshi's pudgy child's body but Ziva was far from laughing.

"Ah, Ziva," said Shoshanna's father Levi, "I see you have found our little ninja. She cannot wait to follow in the family tradition and tells anyone who will listen how she wants to be Mossad. She reminds me of you as a child."

Ziva felt her breath catch in her chest as she looked back towards Levi. "You must not," she pleaded, her voice cracking with emotion, "You must not let her be like me."

She clenched her hands into fists and left the room before the tears forming in her eyes could begin to fall, leaving the others standing behind in bewilderment.

She shut herself in the powder room and sat on the toilet with her head in her hands, fists pressed against her eyes. She thought of Michael lying broken and bleeding on the floor and Tony looking at her, expecting her to feel sorry for him. Expecting her to be grateful. _I did it for you_, he had said. Ziva made a small angry snort as she remembered their confrontation. _No, _she thought, _you did it for you. You understand nothing._ She thought of her father, sitting smugly in his office. She thought of his lies and manipulations. _A kiss for your father. _ She used her tears to water her anger until it grew, sending its tendrils into every corner of her soul. When it was strong enough to support her again she rose and left the bathroom with a scowl pasted on her face once more.

After the blowup, everyone treaded carefully around Ziva until her father arrived. Ziva successfully avoided him but when dinner was served he was seated across from her and there was little she could do but try to ignore him. This was meant to be a happy family gathering. Ziva had told herself that no matter what she was feeling she would not ruin it but she was not sure her resolve was up to coping with her father.

"So Eli, this time you will keep Ziva home where she belongs, yes?" asked Sarai.

"Yes," he said, smiling fondly in Ziva's direction. "She is back with us for good as soon as she completes Michael's mission."

"Feh! Eli," sputtered Sarai angrily, "The fate of Israel does not rest on her shoulders. Find someone else to go,go; it is too soon for Ziva."

Michal looked nervously over at Ziva who was staring fixedly at her plate, her lips moving soundlessly. _I will not, I will not, I will not ..._ she chanted to herself as she tried to hold her temper.

"No, she needs to go," answered Eli. "This mission will be her Aliyah and when she returns all will be forgiven."

Ziva could take no more. "Forgiven, Papa?" she spat, not even trying to keep the venom from her voice. "It is I who should be forgiving you!" She shoved her chair back and ran out of the room.

Levi and Eli started to rise but Michal took one look at the thunderclouds gathering on Eli's brow and waved for them to sit.

"The Mossad is good for many things but this is not one of them. Sit ... eat. I will handle this."

She found Ziva in the kitchen, her head resting against the wall as she pounded the doorframe with her bare fist.

"Ziva, stop ... stop, you're hurting yourself," cried Michal when she saw the disturbing tableau.

Ziva appeared not to hear and went on pounding, eyes nearly closed and her face pinched in agony. Finally Michal walked over to her and, putting her hand on her shoulder, tried to pull her away from the wall. Ziva whirled with her fist still raised. Without flinching, Michal caught Ziva's fist between her own two hands and gently lowered it. She turned it over and examined the bruised and bleeding knuckles.

"We need to get some ice on this," said Michal as she led Ziva over to the stools bystools by the kitchen counter.

She filled a bag with ice but Ziva waved her away. "The pain helps," she said.

"Helps with what?"

"The other pain."

"Talking might help more," said Michal in a soft voice.

Ziva gave a derisive snort. Michal did not know what to say that would not provoke another outburst so she held her tongue. Eventually the weight of the silence was too much and Ziva spoke.

"It was not my fault. What was I supposed to do? Refuse to see Michael? He was my boyfriend. Refuse to help him and betray the Mossad? Or maybe I should have told Gibbs what I was doing, but how could I do that and still stay at NCIS? You would not understand."

"Why? Because I am not Mossad?"

"No, because you are nothing like me. Look at you, your happy family. Your biggest worry is whether the soup has enough salt in it or if the kids will be late for school."

"That's where you're wrong Ziva. Do you think I don't worry about Shoshi. Do you think I don't lie awake at night and wonder if I'm being disloyal for wishing she would like ballet instead of karate. For hoping Levi will not get sent on a dangerous mission. I know about the cost of loyalty and I know about hard choices. That was your problem. You needed to choose and you couldn't do it."

"No, I needed Tony to stay out of it. It was his fault - not mine."

Michal shook her head at Ziva's blindness. "Perhaps he was trying to help."

Ziva snorted. "Perhaps he was jealous and had to stick his face where it was not wanted," she said sarcastically. But inside her head Tony's voice repeated _I did it for you._ She could not think that way. She _would_ _not _think that way. "I know Gibbs understood the line I had to walk so why did he leave me here?. I didn't lie to him but he still chose Tony and left me here."

"You may not have lied but did you tell him the whole truth? Don't misunderstand me, I'm not blaming you, but you needed to choose. NCIS or Israel. Unlike your father, I think the choice should have been yours, but you still had to make one."

"It doesn't matter now,now; the choice has been made for me." _But is that really true,_ whispered a small voice in her head, _was it Tony and Gibbs and your father or was it you. _Ziva shied away from the thought that maybe her inaction had brought these circumstances down on her head. She was sure of one thing. If she went down that road she might never find her way back.

Michal started to object but Ziva held up a hand to silence her and Michal gasped.

"Ziva, your hands! What have you done?"

Ziva looked down at her hands where she had unconsciously been worrying at the wounds on her knuckles with her fingernail. Now they were bleeding freely and she had barely felt it.

"There is blood on my hands," she said in a bemused voice. Then she looked up at Michal, stronger now and angry once again. "But that is what you are saying isn't it. There is blood on my hands."

Before Michal could protest, Ziva rose and headed for the door. She could not listen to any more of this. Not tonight.

"I am leaving."

"Ziva wait," called Michal.

Ziva paused in the hallway and caught sight of the wall of family pictures. There they were, amongst the smiling photos of vacations and birthdays. Tali and Ari and her. She looked back at Michal with a disdainful expression.

"You should talk to my father. There is much he can tell you about blood," she said as she left the house.


End file.
